the writings of a manboy with a spotted bed sheet

Pretty Things

The soldier looked on from their hiding place at the gruesome beheading. He was smiling. His pal stared too, terrified. Then turned to him to speak of his fear, but stopped at the man’s smile. Then he asked of the reason.

“This is beautiful!” the soldier answered.

The other startled. “This is obnoxious! It’s pure evil!”

“It is. But what of it? We’ve done all we can.”

“That’s no reason for you to rejoice in it!”

“Why not?”

“Because of the terror and pain it brings to man.”

“Oh, that’s the beauty of it. The terror and pain. When are we to see such dreadful sights again? We should be exuberant at the fortune!”

“The fortune? You’re enjoying the works of the devil, and you call it beauty?”

“This is the splendid variety of the world. The good, the evil, their encounter. The things that have ever existed and been avoided the sight of. Why not let our time be filled with the wonder of it all?”

His pal looked at him in horror and disgust. He took his knife to stab at the obnoxious soldier, and the obnoxious soldier defended. The clatter and quarrel was heard and the beheaders shot them dead, and then smiled at the beauty of their work.